


(Better Things to do than) Chasing White Rabbits

by Cuzosu



Category: DCU, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Angst, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Family Drama, Flirting, Fluff, Gipsy Danger is the canon name of a Jaeger, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Secret Identity, Slade's canonical bad parenting, Slurs, So much flirting, Swearing, Violence, but at least he's working on that, frenemies to lovers, overprotective parent Bruce Wayne, secret identities plus covert communication equals oblivious idiots in love apparently, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuzosu/pseuds/Cuzosu
Summary: Rumor has it that Dick Grayson can drift with anyone.Slade Wilson has the opposite problem, and kids. Killing kaiju may be easier than parenting, and that's with two of the Batboys in his corner.Of course, Bruce never did adjust well to his kids growing up, and signing up to be partners with Grayson only aggravates that.Keeping secret identities in the midst of all that? If they weren't already familiar with fighting with and against each other, it would be impossible.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to a certain goblin friend for the beta, and several friends for flailing at me to write this. And everyone who bounced tag ideas at me, because after the insanity that was writing this, figuring out tags was...difficult. If I missed anything, please, let me know?
> 
> Never thought I'd write a PacRim crossover/fusion, but people in a Star Wars server were raving about their ideas for some and my DC Bang plans changed immediately when my muse tossed the first line or so of my summary at me. (Originally, I'd thought I might continue last year's Bang. But no. And one of these days, I will share my Batfam/Abhorsen AU snippets, and hopefully someone _else_ will write some Batfam/Umbrella Academy stuff I can enjoy, because my muse tried to derail me 2k words in.) 
> 
> Any typos/mistakes left in this are because I have tried for like the last two months to post this and it turned into a big hassle (AO3 no longer keeps any draft longer than thirty days, even if you update it, apparently? I have had this ready to post several times and lost it all, and my tired self trying to do some last minute beta'ing is probably not catching everything. 
> 
> Anyway! Please enjoy the chaotic disaster that is two disaster bastards who communicate using flirtation as a cover entering a partnership to pilot a giant robot against invading kaiju. Several thousand words of accidental relationship is kind of hilarious, especially considering I went in thinking they'd start a relationship later, but no. It's basically already established and they just don't realize it. Idiots to lovers is _accurate._
> 
> Author's most common complaint this fic? "That's _flirting._ They're _flirting_ and don't get it."
> 
> EDIT: So, this is actually part of DCU Bang 2020 but no one can seem to reach the person running it (given current events I'm worried for their health), so I have removed the fic from the collection. If I can get in touch with them, I don't mind adding it back to the collection, but the wait has been long and people should be able to read this in the meantime.

When invitations to participate in the Jaeger Program in exchange for pardons were extended to certain villains known to be capable of working well with others, Slade Wilson was not surprised to receive one. He’d kept an eye on the situation; information was a valuable weapon. So he knew that only a scant handful of pilots were actually heroes or villains, most being covert ops types or even martial artists. 

Slade wasn’t really the type to cooperate with anyone without either good pay or mutual high levels of respect. 

Pardons? Why bother? 

He ended up checking to see who was on their list of potential pilots out of boredom. Possibly it was the luckiest decision he’d made in years. 

Only one name stood out, but Dick Grayson was the single best person on the list to pilot with, and Slade could claim him. Slade could use this to get close, both to the one big-time hero he actually gave a damn about and to his own kids, since he’d have a stable base and be able to rely on Dick to mediate when he inevitably screwed up. 

Deathstroke replied to the invitation with an ultimatum: _Partner me with Dick Grayson or no contract, and keep it out of the media._

Government contracts paid in silence nearly as well as money, usually, and his kids might not want the publicity. Nightwing definitely wouldn’t, but then he had other people who could and would fill in for him and was less at risk of exposure. 

  
  
  


Dick stared, nonplussed, at the file in front of him. “You’re asking me if I’m willing to copilot with an internationally wanted mercenary?” 

Stacker coughed. “To be fair, he said if you aren’t his copilot, he won’t join the program. I know you’re probably the most adaptable pilot we have, you’ve been able to fill in for injured pilots, but─” He paused. “Deathstroke asked for you by name. I don’t know why, I probably don’t want to, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but I need an answer. Soon if possible.” 

Grayson hummed thoughtfully, tipping back in his chair. “...don’t let it get to Bruce’s ears until the first time we go into combat as a team,” he suggested. “I’ll copilot with Deathstroke; he probably won’t be able to trust anyone else enough to drift with them, anyway.” 

“Way to make yourself sound like a villain,” Marshal Pentecost noted dryly. “All right, I’ll send him official team papers and we’ll see when he gets here.” 

Slade touched down in the city near where he’d been told to arrive early, of course. And then sent a message to a number labeled _Nightwing_ in his contacts. It was short and to the point. 

_Let’s play fetch. I want coffee._

In other words, _Come tell me if this is legitimate. I’m at the usual diner._

Anyone else reading it was likely to assume it was just Deathstroke being an asshole; Grayson alone knew better. 

Claiming a seat at the diner, Slade told the waitress he’d take coffee and wait to order anything else until the person he was meeting arrived. Drink in hand, he settled in to think. 

If it was legitimate, if this wasn’t a trap, drifting meant he’d share memories and experiences with Grayson. It wasn’t something to do lightly, but ─ Dick was an asshole, but it wasn’t in him to use private memories against anyone who trusted him enough to share. 

Drifting was...a mass media phenomenon, which annoyed him to a degree, but it made accessing information easier, at least. Sifting through for cited data wasn’t all that different from his usual job-related info gathering. 

A drift, the collated results claimed, was a blending of people. One pilot had described it as, “Like you’re two people who’ve fought side by side enough to predict each other’s moves, but more intimate, and you don’t have to see each other to know what’s about to happen.” Another had said, “As long as no one goes chasing white rabbits down memory lane, either you drift or you don’t.” 

Finding no new information, Slade closed out of the browser on his phone and sipped his coffee. He’d asked Grayson what the key to a successful drift was, after seeing the younger man’s name in the news one time. Dick’s response had been short: “Trust. In yourself and in your partner.” 

If he wasn’t allowed to partner with Grayson, he wouldn’t be able to drift with anyone. There wasn’t enough trust, not after all the hell he and his kids had been put through. 

  
  
  


Dick checked his Nightwing phone and was unsurprised to find a new message from Deathstroke. The startling part was that it was a covert request for reassurance, which put Slade’s insistence on partnership in an interesting light. Deathstroke on the job had no use for emotions, which meant this was a personal choice, not paid. 

Stacker Pentecost looked up when the younger man stood abruptly. Something in Dick’s expression whispered of rule-breaking. The marshal held up a hand. “Grayson, that look tells me I need to turn the other way. I can do that. As long as you assure me that it’s safe for me to let you take off to who knows where, I will fake ignorance ‘til the day I die. So tell me: is it safe for you to go alone?” 

A wry smile twisted Dick’s mouth. “Safer than bringing tails or officials. I’ve never been afraid to meet him alone before, even if he is capable of going toe to toe with Batman.” 

The marshal pinned him with an intense, assessing gaze, finally saying, “Then we can consider this need to know, and I don’t need to know. What excuse am I passing on to anyone who asks?” 

Wry smile morphed into a charming grin as Dick declared, “Tell them I forgot I had a date and I was running late!” It wasn’t a new excuse, but flirting was an old fallback and Deathstroke appreciated a chance to dust off that southern charm jobs rarely called for. 

Slade hadn’t been in the diner for more than ten minutes when a sleek motorcycle pulled up outside. He wasn’t surprised when the helmet’s removal revealed Grayson; the color scheme matched Nightwing perfectly. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d have already ordered the younger man’s drink, but this was as much a test of whether or not Dick was being controlled in any way It was a trust fall, in a manner of speaking. 

Dick’s behavior met typical standards: flirtatious, cheerful, astute, and conniving. Deathstroke took a breath...and took a chance. “You don’t mind partnering with me?” 

Intelligent blue eyes met his gaze, sharp with wit but soft with emotion. “Would you trust anyone else?” asked Nightwing. 

“...no.” He paused. “Not even my ex-wife, or my kids. Not this far.” _Not when he’d screwed up so badly in those relationships and only recently seen some of his mistakes in full._ In light of that, Grayson’s belief in his better side was worrying and yet ─ hope was an unfamiliar emotion, these days, but Nightwing was good at inspiring that feeling in heroes and villains alike. 

A wry, gentle smile curled Dick’s expressive mouth. “I didn’t think so,” he agreed. “Yes, I’ll drift with you.” 

“You’ll see things about me you won’t want to,” Slade stated, a half-hearted warning at best. 

“I’m well aware, and I’ll cope. Never was good at resisting a challenge.” 

There wasn’t really anything Slade could say to refute that, and he’d never been one to back away from challenges, either. He’d just learned that in some areas, he needed all the help he could trust. And trust was scarce. 

“...touché,” was all that came out. 

Grayson gave him another deeply insightful look, then asked, “Ready to sort out the paperwork and adjust to different gear?” 

Deathstroke sighed, but he pulled a folder out of a briefcase under the table. They went through the papers together and signed where necessary, then drove back to base in tandem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene titles are entertaining, right? Here are some of the ones I used:  
> Invitation  
> Ultimatum  
> Cogent  
> Timely  
> Really really (yes, a Shrek reference)


	2. Chapter 2

Marshal Pentecost wasn’t quite sure what to make of Deathstroke; he hadn’t honestly expected a man known for not trusting even his allies to agree to join the Jaeger Program, though he’d had the merc’s name down as trustworthy under contract. Some paper-pushing fool in an office somewhere had lucked out, extending that invitation. Stacker would capitalize on that luck, and on Grayson’s ability to charm. 

If Slade Wilson wanted to be a jaeger pilot, Stacker Pentecost wanted him on the roster, even if it meant moving his most drift compatible stand-in pilot to a full time partnership. 

Besides, maybe this way Mako would stop pressing him to let her try drifting with Grayson. He wasn’t ready to let his child, adopted or not, take that level of risk. Not yet. 

  
  


A knock at the door sounded, and Dick Grayson entered without an invitation. Stacker leveled a glare at him. “Grayson, if you were anyone else, you’d get fired for all the barging in you do.” 

Deathstroke snorted. There might have been a glint of humor in his eye, but the marshal didn’t know him well enough to say for sure. 

“You already knew we were headed this way,” Dick countered, “and anyway, you probably had standing orders for security to alert you when Deathstroke arrived or I came back without him five minutes after I went to meet him.” 

Wilson’s expression remained impassive, but there was a glimmer of curiosity behind the veil of nonchalance. He waited a moment to see if the marshal would refute the claim, and when that didn’t happen, Deathstroke bumped shoulders with Grayson and said, “You’ve introduced us. I’ll play nice if you go get ‘em started on the gear I’ll need.” 

Pentecost’s eyebrows rose, surprise writ clear on his otherwise stoic face. “...I’m not sure if I want to know how you have Deathstroke’s measurements, or if it’s one of those things I’d regret learning.” 

Dick held his new partner’s gaze for a moment, then, amusement clear in his voice, noted, “Jay’s going to laugh himself sick, and it won’t help B’s reaction _at all.”_

“Of course not,” Slade stated mildly. He didn’t allow his relief to show, however glad he was that Nightwing was willing to play along for now. “That’s what family is for, or so I’m told.” 

Intense blue eyes cut deep, and then the younger man smiled again. “Fine,” he said. “Have your private discussion. I’ll step outside and place an order for your gear, and when you’re done keeping secrets from me for now, I’ll give you a tour.” 

Slade met blue eyes calmly. “You’re the only one here I’m _not_ hiding things from, but I suspect your boss wants to give warnings, and you may need to contact someone and pass on reassurances.” 

Dick raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Like your kids won’t land on the doorstep, huh? Just because I will end up involved in that spat doesn’t mean I’ll take your side.” 

“Good god,” muttered the marshal, “you two act married already and you haven’t even drifted together yet.” 

  
  


The door shut behind Dick, leaving a much more somber atmosphere. Stacker Pentecost steepled his hands and stared hard at the other man. “So, you’re Deathstroke. I admit, seeing you with Grayson makes it seem like you might not live up to your reputation.” 

Slade snorted derisively. “There aren’t many people who can keep up with me in a fight without planning ahead. Dick is a circus brat who went on to martial arts training, and he’s the only regular human who can outwit me on the fly. I respect that. I respect _him._ If his name hadn’t been on the roster, I probably would have passed this up, because he’s the only one I trust enough to drift with.” 

Stacker’s eyes narrowed. “He said that, too,” the marshal noted. “That you wouldn’t be able to drift with anyone else.” 

A small smirk quirked the corner of Slade’s mouth. “He’d know,” admitted the mercenary. “Grayson’s seen me on the job before, and he’s the only one I probably won’t kill because I like having him around.” 

“You make him sound like a hero,” Pentecost said, then held up a hand. “I’m not asking you to share details, and I haven’t asked him to share details. We have covert ops people here and masked vigilantes and villains fit right in, everyone hiding their identities. Makes for a different and more humane version of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Most of us treat it as need-to-know; no one needs to know unless someone wants to reveal personal data. You and Grayson are perfectly happy to drift together and team up, keep each other’s secrets; that’s all I need to know.” Then he leaned forward, expression darkening. “But if you hurt him, I will spread every detail I know about you as far as I can, and even if I can’t hold you accountable in person, _someone else will.”_

Silence fell. 

Deathstroke stood, seemingly impassive, and dropped a file on the desk between them. “Dick brought the paperwork to lunch; it’s signed. Is there anything else urgent?” 

“That’s all for now.” Dark eyes watched closely. 

Slade grunted, flicked one hand in a half-assed wave, and strode to the doorway, then paused. Over his shoulder, he said, “That was a better threat than you probably think, but I didn’t need it. I haven’t been a danger to Grayson in years. He knows that, even if no one else does.” 

Stacker Pentecost stared as the door closed behind Slade Wilson. “...huh.” So that was Deathstroke the Terminator, internationally wanted mercenary working for pardons. Or, more likely, the opportunity to spend time with Dick Grayson, who clearly had more secrets than the average person. 

  
  


Jason took advantage of his lunch break and checked his messages. There was a new one from Dick, which he initially thought was just a check-in to see how everything was going. 

_Apparently a certain merc B detests decided to try drifting with me. Guarantee he won’t drift with anyone else._

Jay inhaled some of his drink and spent long moments coughing and spluttering. “Holy shit, Dickie, what bait did you dangle for that?!” he wheezed in disbelief. 

“What was that?” 

Shit, he’d forgotten to mute his comms. “Dick’s trying to kill me,” he grumbled aloud. 

“You think everyone’s trying to kill you,” scoffed Babs. “Stop being an asshole to your brother.” 

Even as he snarled at her, he texted back. _I’ll keep my mouth shut if you make sure I’m there when B loses his shit at you for it._

 _Done deal,_ was the immediate answer. 

  
  


Dick glanced up nonchalantly when Slade exited the office. He didn’t check on the marshal because he knew _exactly_ how soundproof that room wasn’t ─ he’d always been good at inspiring rage in anyone who tried to give him orders and Stacker Pentecost was no exception there. 

“So, tour first, then show you to quarters, after which they should have your gear ready. Sound good?” 

Slade grunted. “Get on with it, Grayson.” 

A grin flashed, half feral, all charm. “Isn’t your generation supposed to have more patience?” He turned and led the way down the hall, unbothered by manners or lack thereof. Batman was worse, anyway ─ and, speaking of the bat who liked to lurk and loom… “B is gonna flip when he hears,” Dick noted wryly. “Jay said he’ll keep quiet until Bruce knows, but he wants to be there so he can watch the train wreck that confrontation will be.” He paused. “Maybe if B sees some of his kids teaming up against him, it will be a wake up call. Even if he doesn’t, _Alfred_ will absolutely appreciate the heads up that Bruce is pushing our collective tolerance again.” 

“You make it sound like it’s you and the butler who keep your family more functional than not,” Slade said. It wasn’t so much a statement as a subtle question. 

“Well, mostly us since Tim started distancing himself when Bruce pisses him off. Tim’s more forgiving than most, and that’s not always a good thing with B. He walks all over people, if they let him.” 

There really wasn’t a good response to that. Truth, after all, was truth. 

  
  


Slade appreciated the way Dick meandered at just the right pace to let him case everything about the place; he hadn’t even had to _ask._ Grayson probably knew how rare that was, too. “So what do I need to know right now?” 

Dick, thankfully, didn’t require elaboration. He knew Deathstroke was not fond of socializing and drew hard lines over some things. 

“Pentecost understands that some conflict is going to happen. He’d prefer we not take out fellow pilots in manners which involve, say, broken body parts, but he’s aware that sometimes someone will drink too much or push too far, and he knows that _should_ come with consequences. Official or otherwise.” 

Deathstroke said nothing, though he approved. A boss who didn’t operate like a paper pusher? Unusual. But, then, Slade didn't slack on research ─ Marshall Pentecost had been a pilot, in the earlier days of the Jaeger Program. 

The next thing Dick showed him was the hangar. Jaeger weak points were more obvious from a closeup view, but they were still impressive machines. 

“That one’s ours,” Grayson said, gesturing at the appropriate looming robot. “Or that’s the plan, anyway. We can always bring up problems and suggest improvements, but if you want it done well and quickly, we’d have to involve our contacts. B’s got a team of really good engineers involved in planning general upgrades for the machines already.” He didn’t say their jaeger was designed with his capabilities in mind, but it’s understood; Batman would hardly let one of his own proteges join the program without all the assistance he could offer. 

Slade grunted noncommittally, eye critically assessing the machine they’d be copiloting soon enough. Vulnerable points were either covered or less essential, and the weaponry was most definitely geared toward their own preferences; he noted escrima sticks and a sword, though he was interested to know what weapons were built in and hidden, as well. 

Apart from the combat capability of the jaeger, what caught Deathstroke’s attention was: “Don’t jaegers usually have paint to help distinguish them?” 

There was Nightwing’s smile, sly but with a hidden ferocity. “Think of it like setting up a house; they don’t want us fighting each other because the carpet doesn’t match the drapes,” came the blithe response. “Or something like that.” 

A snort, mouth twitching as he tried to hide amusement; he’d always appreciated the mind games Grayson played. Where the Bat’s mind games were about survival and triumph, or occasionally humoring a villain so they'll remain nonviolent, Dick’s prioritized morality and redemption above everything except family. Slade more than respected that; he admired it. Grayson placed a level of importance on family that Slade had trouble doing, and the younger man encouraged others to _also_ consider family the most important. It helped. Probably more than Grayson realized. 

The flirting, well, it was flattering, but more because of the emotions behind it than because of the act itself; Nightwing had a reputation for flirting with villains. That Dick could look at him and tease, offer help, and flirt, all in the same breath? What it meant was that he saw the potential for redemption in Deathstroke, and he was willing to help but also _wanted to._

Nobody wanted to help Deathstroke figure out how to be a decent person again. Not his kids, his ex-wife, any government or villain that hired him; hell, most of the heroes who’d ever worked with him wouldn’t trust that he might be taking redemption seriously, except for maybe Superman, who wouldn’t have the least clue how to help when things got rough. The only one who would both want to help and be able to...was a former circus brat turned hero, who’d agreed to pilot a jaeger with him. 

Slade probably didn’t regain his poker face soon enough to keep the fondness from Grayson’s observant eyes, but that was okay. It was everyone else he didn’t want getting to know him that well, anyway. 

  
  


Dick watched Slade stow his belongings and didn’t bother hiding a smile. This probably wasn’t as much of an attempt at redemption as most assumed, but it didn’t bother him terribly. Deathstroke was lethal, yes, and didn’t allow himself a lot of morality, but he preferred to just be good enough that living through a fight with him tended to spook opponents. As Robin and as Nightwing, Dick had never really been intimidated so much as determined to win the next time. It probably said a lot about both of them, that scare tactics made them more bullheaded instead of less. 

Slade came up with sheath in hand and a hint of humor on his face. “That paperwork you gave me mentioned that sparring together in front of witnesses is supposed to be a good test for drift compatibility, and presumably less expensive.” 

Yeah, he’d been expecting something like that. “The marshal’s going to want to be one of the observers,” he noted idly. His gaze was clear and sharp on Deathstroke, because he didn’t want the other man to call their partnership off for lack of communication. So far, he’d never had that problem with Slade...but so far, he’d been insistent on keeping potential problems in the open. 

“Kind of figured that much, Grayson. Let’s get it done, one more thing out of the way.” 

_Don’t start wasting my time now,_ Dick translated, and grinned. “I love working with you. Never have to worry about blowing my cover.” 

“Have you seen the latest pictures of Nightwing?” Slade asked, irony in every word. “You haven’t got the right build.”

  
  


Stacker Pentecost eyed the unlikely duo striding into one of the sparring rooms. He didn’t have the full story and didn’t want it, either. There was obviously history between them, and he wondered how the world had missed that one of its most infamous assassins for hire was dating someone. It wasn’t his business, thankfully. 

Deathstroke graced his partner with a dry look and said, “Escrima sticks? You always did like Nightwing too much.” 

Grayson grinned like the assassin had just told a great joke, or maybe flattered him. “And you like the thrill of the chase too much, but I guess we aren’t talking about that.” 

That earned the younger man a scoff, but the assassin’s stare never so much as twitched from him. It probably would have disconcerted most others, though Dick seemed to take it as his due. 

Beside the marshal, Yancy Becket gazed dubiously at the spectacle. “Are you _sure_ Grayson passed his psych eval, sir?” he asked. “I know he’s worse than most of us about not flirting, but this…isn’t this dangerous?” 

Stacker sighed. “Grayson agreed to it, and he knows more than he’s sharing.” The marshal weighed his options for a moment, but...well. The Becket brothers and Gipsy Danger were famous for several reasons, and photogenic tendencies were relatively low on the list. “Deathstroke indicated that Grayson has contacts who would make him regret any harm done.” Honesty made him add, “If anything, Wilson appears to go out of his way to placate Dick. Consider it need-to-know until they stop getting along.” 

Yancy’s expression grew more dubious still, but he fell silent, watching as the unlikely duo traded quips without letting the other out of sight, even when bantering with a crowd. “What’s with the eye-lock?” he called, wondering if he’d even get an honest answer. 

“Taking your eyes off an opponent you know is dangerous is stupid,” they jinxed. 

Grayson grinned, despite the glare Deathstroke leveled at him. “If you really don’t want to be predictable, sometimes stupidity is necessary.” 

Wilson sighed through his nose. “That kind of blind trust will get you killed someday.” 

Yancy blinked; it sounded like Deathstroke didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of Grayson dying because of misplaced trust, and that...didn’t fit with what he knew of the merc. 

“With my family? Nah. Jay’s the only one who threatens to kill me, and he won’t follow through on that threat.” 

Slade muttered something that sounded like, “One of the few he won’t follow through,” but surely they didn’t know each other’s families as well as that would imply? There would have been press coverage. 

A fond laugh broke the stunned moment, and Dick grinned. “It’s a prerogative of siblings, you know? All fun and games until someone gets hurt, and then we dogpile the asshole responsible.” 

“Not quite how I’d have said it,” muttered Yancy, squinting skeptically at the acrobat, “but honest enough.” 

Stacker bit his tongue; observation was the best indicator of when and how best to affect others, after all. 

  
  
  


Yancy watched the newest pair of pilots spar and wondered. They were too good at countering and avoiding each other’s blows for it to be their first match-up, and everything they’d said indicated a lot of history. Grayson wasn’t military, despite signing up to pilot a jaeger. He was also too damned _nice_ to be the kind of villain who’d hire Deathstroke the Terminator, which left...well, he wasn’t quite sure _what,_ exactly, that left. Sure, maybe Grayson was a hero, but none had gone missing lately, and cloning was not feasible so far as Yancy knew. 

Either Grayson was some kind of super secretive caped crusader, or he was one _extremely_ odd civilian. 

He supposed it didn’t matter, as long as no problems hit the Jaeger Program because of those secrets, but Yancy was only human. 

Curiosity was going to eat him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pun-tastic and reference-filled scene titles!  
> Stacking the odds  
> Spring fling  
> A better threat than expected  
> The best brother  
> The oldest brother  
> Of drapes and décor  
> The right build  
> Match, set  
> Not another Yancy Drew


	3. Chapter 3

The match between Grayson and Deathstroke ─ _Wilson,_ if he was going to be the man’s commanding officer, he had to get used to actual names as well as code names ─ had been going on for fifteen minutes. It felt like hours; such speed and power combined with mind-boggling grace was exhausting just to watch. 

“I want lessons,” muttered Raleigh, standing beside his brother. 

“That asshole’s been holding back on us,” Yancy growled, glaring at Dick. 

Deathstroke swung bared steel at Grayson, who grinned fiercely, slid the blade away with one weapon and slammed its partner into Slade’s upraised arm. The mercenary felt a corner of his mouth twitch up in response. “Who’s predictable, now?” he taunted. 

“If you’re going to be mean to me,” sniffed Dick, and attacked again instead of finishing his sentence. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, anyway. 

Stacker sighed. He shouldn’t have left Mako in his office; she no doubt had the feed up and was watching events unfold. This would fill her head with all kinds of ideas. 

“If you’re done playing footsie, gentlemen,” he began, “everyone in the room has seen that you’re probably drift compatible. Shower off and meet in an hour, Grayson knows where.” 

A handful of them filed out, and the rest actually set up for their own sparring matches. Marshal or not, Stacker refrained from uttering any of the scathing remarks on the tip of his tongue. Things like this _happened_ when new people joined a unit. It didn’t make sense to raise a fuss about anything until something affected efficiency. 

Showering was quick and easy, and the equipment was prepared and properly fitted by the time they arrived. Having a clear view of Grayson donning his own set, Deathstroke didn't entirely wave off the offer of assistance, though what could be done solo, he did. But he didn't ask for privacy, and he'd caught some looks askance when people found out he was rooming with his partner already. Disabusing them of the notion he was in a relationship would have just made them ask questions Grayson would rather avoid, and sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. Picking his battles was long-standing habit, anyway. 

Slade hadn’t fussed about donning the gear in front of an audience, despite his discomfort; knew things would get even more invasive when drift actually happened. He’d caught some of the hype about it, and yeah, maybe he could have soloed as a pilot, but he hadn’t been interested. Not in the pardon, or the glory, or even the chance to build a reputation as a good guy. 

He wasn’t a good guy. He was a mercenary, a killer, and a shitty parent. 

He wanted to be a better parent, if not necessarily a better person. 

And Grayson...Dick could help with that. _Would_ help with that, but they’d have to drift together first, and that meant opening up all kinds of things Slade...didn’t really want to deal with yet. _Rip the band-aid off,_ he snarled at himself, disgusted. He never had liked people putting off the inevitable on a job, and technically, he had been hired. 

Slade donned the helmet, and drift swept them away. 

_They were at the circus, eyes sharp and observant but not observant enough. Face to face with Adeline, happy but not ecstatic or gleeful like they should probably have felt. Watching the big top burn, desolate, just them alone. Parenting had never been their thing, why had she handed them a newborn, they had no idea what to do with anyone so fragile!_

_The world fractured and they were broken, bleeding, worthless. They couldn’t stand the thought of her, and no words would suffice._

_They were joining the program to save people and step away from trauma in Blüdhaven. It was a different way of saving the world, and just as direly necessary._

_They saw Grayson’s name on the list and all the vague hopes and dreams crashed together. What emerged was stronger, a certainty, a plea and a bargain and a desperate, driving need. There had never been doubt they’d be accepted by their partner, and the program was unlikely to turn him down._

Two pilots opened their eyes, smirked, and said, “Nice drift. Let’s do it again.” 

As one, everybody in the observation room stared intently, either at the readings or at the pilots in question. Only the botched experiments had ever drifted so deeply that they synchronized immediately after first drift. They’d used all the proper equipment and safety procedures, so it wasn’t likely to be permanent harm, and yet… 

Dick was usually only clingy when he needed immediate emotional support or was being an asshole, but he found himself grinning mischievously at Slade and asking, “Give me a lift?” as they left the command center. 

No fool, Slade eyed him dubiously and said, “I’m not your dad, Grayson.” 

“Of course not! My real dad died a long time ago, and B humiliates himself on a semi-regular basis. But I didn’t ask for a parent, Slade; I asked to _play.”_ He’d be willing to play in several different ways, but pushing Slade past his comfort zone for that was not something Dick was willing to do. 

Slade squinted at him, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t expect me to wait for you.” 

That was the closest he’d probably ever get to enthusiastic invitation, and Dick grinned wider. The fact that he wasn’t waiting was in itself an invitation for Dick to ramp up the play a notch; he _knew_ how much of an acrobat Dick was, after all! 

Dick was in the process of rebounding off the wall when Yancy strode around the corner, just in time to see Grayson land straddling Deathstroke’s shoulders. The mercenary barely swayed, despite the sudden weight. As Becket’s eyes widened, Dick laughed. 

“Do you have any idea how much fun it is to goof off when you’re around? Most people guess wrong about when I’m serious or not; you just humor me unless you’re on the job.” 

Any further bonding they might have done was interrupted by a phone call. 

“Hey, Alfred,” Dick greeted, trying for cheer but failing. “B on a warpath?” 

_“We’re headed your way, Master Richard, and Master Bruce is_ **_most_ ** _displeased you kept this from him.”_

“Got it, thanks, Alf. You’re the best of us, you know that?” 

_“That is_ **_hardly_ ** _worth bragging about, and I disagree, Master Richard, but we will see you soon.”_

They bade each other temporary farewells and hung up, and Dick held up a finger to ask Slade to hold his questions a minute longer. He speed dialed a number. 

“Hey, Jay,” he said when his brother answered, “B’s on his way, Alfred called.” 

There was cackling over the speaker, and then Jason smugly responded, _“On my way, bro. See you and your silver fox soon; I wouldn’t miss this confrontation for the world!”_

Grayson sighed, but turned to his partner. “If we eat now, at least we’ll have time for the food to settle before company comes calling.” 

Slade snorted. “You sound disappointed. I knew your family would show up first; you aren’t hiding your presence here and they keep an eye out for my movements anyway. This isn’t a surprise, circus brat. It was inevitable.” 

Dick made a face. “Absolutely zero optimism, I swear. I can plan for the worst while hoping for the best, thanks. It would be nice if someone else learned to do that, too.” 

“Lonely?” Deathstroke mocked, but Dick could see the gentleness underlying the words and smiled wryly in response. “Grayson, my family’s a worse mess than yours; I’m not going to throw stones.” 

“Glass houses?” queried Dick facetiously. 

Slade mimed swatting at him, and Dick leaned just far enough out of reach with a grin. The older man shook his head. “I don’t even have to _ask_ to know you’ll help me mend fences with my kids, Grayson. And if you were less skilled, I’d be worried your boundless optimism is going to get you killed, but mostly you play things smart. If you need backup, call me.” 

Nightwing looked at the mercenary. “That’s what you’re doing here, Slade. Asking for help, the only way you can with this. It has too much potential to hurt, so you can’t actually say it.” 

Deathstroke met that gaze calmly, though ghosts lay unquiet just behind the words he couldn’t speak. “Always knew you were the only one of your family that really got me.” 

“It’s not that difficult; they just try to look for motives that aren’t there.” 

They finished stashing weapons around the room and headed for the cafeteria. A bite to eat and let settle before dealing with the big bad Bat was probably a good idea. 

They had just eaten a light meal in companionable quiet, busy thinking about the upcoming confrontation. Neither of them was prepared for the sirens to blare with an incoming kaiju. 

“Damn, they just pulled apart two of the jaegers for maintenance and three are in the repair bays after combat damage!” Dick was already standing. 

“So we get ready,” Slade grunted. They took their trays up to the washperson and strode determinedly for the command center to await orders. 

Orders did not wait long; the moment he spotted them walking into the room, Marshal Pentecost snapped out, “Suit up! I’d rather not send anyone into danger without backup, and we’re short on jaegers in working order right now.” 

Slade appreciated that the man didn’t even question if they were capable of going right from first drift to combat. They saluted as they spun and headed for their gear, still in tandem. 

Drift came easily, and fighting was just as natural for them. A jaeger was just a different kind of combat suit. The helicopter dropped them into ocean waves and they smirked. 

Gipsy Danger strode ahead of them, once more into the breach. 

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to reach the fight, and the kaiju was strong and agile. They knew how to fight strong and agile opponents, a quick mind was always more dangerous, so Slade and Dick hung back, let the kaiju forget their presence. 

“Hey, Danger, lure it our way,” Grayson asked with a smirk. 

Slade’s expression was just as feral and amused, but quieter somehow. “If you fish out the ships and head for shore just past us, maybe it will take the bait.” 

_“Bait,”_ groused Yancy over the comm system. _"J_ _ust what I’ve always wanted to be…”_

Raleigh laughed. _“Aw, come on, Yancy, it’s buy one get one! You know you love BOGO deals.”_

 _“Chum in a bucket,”_ muttered the older Becket brother, _“or maybe sardines in a can.”_

They could use some practice as a group, Slade saw it clearly as they tag teamed the kaiju, but they could manage until the fight was over, since each set of pilots was used to some level of teamwork. Adaptability in combat was severely underrated, but they had it in spades. Not to mention the willpower to see a fight through. 

Baiting the kaiju worked, and the takedown was easy and relatively inexpensive. 

“Only minor repairs,” grinned Dick, as they were airlifted back to base. “Alfred won’t have to worry so much when he sees us, that’ll be nice.” 

Slade snorted and muttered something under his breath about bats and belfries. Grayson didn’t ask him to repeat it, so Deathstroke and Nightwing alike fell silent, playing scenarios out in their heads. 

Planning ahead had always been a necessity when dealing with the Bat and his alter ego. 

Alfred was waiting just outside the command center when the informal debrief was over. From the corner of his eyes, Dick could see the suspicious stare, though Slade at least didn’t say anything yet. 

“Hey, Alfred. Missed you, you should visit on a day off sometime.” 

“If you and Master Bruce remain at odds after this, I may have to,” the butler conceded. 

They stopped outside the room where the others were waiting, and Dick sighed. “The only reason for you to come find us, Alfred, is if you had something you wanted to say away from prying ears. I doubt you want to chide me for this, you know how I work, and it’s obvious to me that you’re angling for a word with Slade alone. Normally, I’d say you’re both adults and can handle it. Under current circumstances, if you leave Jay and me together in a room with Bruce, things will get explosive. Since I doubt that’s what you want, let’s have this out here, then go in and handle B.” 

The butler considered him for a long moment, then nodded calmly. “Very well, Master Richard, that is reasonable.” He turned to face Deathstroke. “It is not my place to debate morals with you, Mister Wilson, nor am I particularly inclined, so I’ll keep it simple. If you harm Master Richard, I have access to everything I would need to get retribution without ever lifting a finger, though I likely would join the horde out for your head.” 

Slade eyed him evenly, impressed with the benign tone and ominous promise. “That’s fair,” he conceded, “though you clearly aren’t aware of how much time we spent together even before this.” 

“Regular coffee dates!” chirped Grayson, and led the way into the room to confront the big bad Bat. He’d always been blatant about avoiding subjects with Alfred in a way that indicated trust the older man wouldn’t push the issue. 

“Oh, dear,” Pennyworth sighed, but he gestured the mercenary in first and followed anyway. 

Jason looked up at them with a mix of relief, anger, and a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Dickhead, would you mind terribly if I borrowed your newest official partner in crime?” 

“Not as new as you think,” Slade muttered reflexively. 

Jay’s grin just widened. “That was a Dick move. First combat drift and you’re already that far in each other’s heads?” His delight was predatory. 

Deathstroke just met his gaze and unfurled a tiny, nearly unnoticeable smirk. “If you think we haven’t teamed up _officially_ before, you don’t see as much as you think you do.” 

“At least you’re not as blind as a bat,” Dick consoled Jason, but the cruel edge to the corner of his wry smile said the pun had been intended to hit Bruce. 

Alfred watched it all with sad eyes and hid a sigh. Master Bruce had indeed overstepped boundaries, if both boys were verbally attacking him. 

“Did you have the sense to _check in with anyone_ before you decided you had a new co-pilot?” grated Bruce. 

There was a particular tilt of the head and a sweet-sharp smile Dick used when he was furious and letting someone who’d sparked it face his temper; he had it now. “My commanding officer notified me when the request for partnership came in. Jay knew a few hours after I did. Now you do, and probably a fair chunk of our other associates.” 

_They saw it in the news, same as you did, B._ It went unspoken, but the words still cut deep. Part of Dick might feel bad for it, later. But this was now. 

“So,” Jason interrupted, gesturing at the screen and its newscast clips of their jaeger in combat. “Have you decided on a name for your iron giant yet? How obvious are you going? I can’t see Boy Blue going for Deathwing, but Nightstroke, now, _that’s_ got some meaning to it, right?” He leered cheerfully at them. 

Dick paused. “We hadn’t actually discussed names yet,” the younger pilot admitted, meeting his partner’s gaze. “Nightstroke does have a certain cachet to it,” he suggested, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Slade snorted. “I’ve heard worse,” he agreed. He didn’t glance at Bruce; he didn’t need to. Red Hood had already agreed to have their backs and was observing with no little glee. 

B didn’t so much erupt with temper as _hiss,_ seething and trying valiantly to keep his temper in check. “So you decided, without checking in with anyone who knows both of you, that you would just...trust without backup?” 

If he weren’t so tired of the man treating his grown kids like unruly teenagers, Slade might have been more polite. “The fact that you don’t know Grayson and I have worked together professionally before tells me a number of things about your relationship, _Wayne,_ and you might consider that he told the marshal of this program that he was probably the only one I’d trust enough to drift with _before I did,_ and he was _right.”_ Age might not have granted Slade wisdom, but working with Dick had alleviated some of that issue where people were concerned. 

Before the oldest Bat could even respond, Alfred set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I suggest a walk, Master Bruce, to calm down.” 

Bruce drew in a breath, then another, nodded, and left the room. He’d be back for Alfred, or they’d go find him. It would be a calmer confrontation from here. 

In the silence after the door shut behind him, Jay asked, “Seriously, though, did you say that just to spite B or are you actually naming your jaeger _Nightstroke?_ I have to know.” 

Dick met Slade’s eyes. Blue glinted. “I meant what I said.” Teeth flashed in a grin. 

“So did I. And pissing off the big bad Bat’s not a small perk, not when he can’t retaliate without it being obvious.” 

Jason squinted. “...huh. I wasn’t expecting to _like_ you, Wilson. Keep it up, maybe Dickiebird finally found a good high wire partner after all.” He turned his gaze to his brother-in-arms and mused, “At least the Wilson kids weren’t here to make things more awkward.” 

It wasn’t even subtle; Deathstroke froze and glanced at Grayson with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

Red Hood whistled, impressed. “Wilson, I don’t like butting into my brother’s personal life, but that’s a lot to ask, I hope you know.” 

“He knows,” murmured Dick, blue eyes intent on his partner. A corner of his mouth twitched upward. “He doesn’t know how to ask for the help he needs, but he knows he _needs_ help and trusts me to give it.” 

Alfred blinked. “Ah, this would be why he joined the Program, I assume, Master Richard?” 

Slade growled. “I’m sure I can’t stop you from telling Wayne without losing the help I’m after, but it goes no further than your family and mine. No matter who asks.” 

“That is agreeable.” Alfred inclined his head in a short bow. 

“Reasonable and doable, too,” noted Jason, eyeing Deathstroke curiously. “We keep a number of secrets in the family, just tell us who exactly is allowed what info; I’m not sure how you want your ex-wife handled.” 

“Direct her to me,” was the pained response. “She’ll probably try to kill me, but at least there will be less collateral damage.” 

“Huh.” Jay narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Rose said you’d screwed up as a parent, but she made it sound like it wasn’t just you who’d decided distance was better for keeping your kids alive. Said her mom thought staying out of your life would be safer, especially given your ex. She's that crazy?” 

“Everything I know says Addie’s married to the job,” was Dick’s input. The Batcave had extensive files. “But given she targeted Slade for work crashing back against their kids when hers is at least as bad and she's the one who recruited Slade in the first place─” 

“I’m _right. Here,”_ snarled Deathstroke. 

Grayson leaned into him with a wry smile. “So are we, Slade. We just...have a family habit of planning by talking circles around the matter until there’s a consensus, unless we’re somewhere we can guarantee privacy.” 

One deep breath, another. “...that makes sense,” muttered the mercenary. “Still don’t like being talked about like I’m not even here.” 

“Old habit, sorry. We third-person a lot of our planning, especially on home ground. More of a liability than an advantage.” Secret identities were sometimes the biggest pain in the ass. 

With a disgusted sigh, Jason headed for the door. “I’ve got your backs on this, but you two need to figure out the lovebird shit _before_ the Wilson kids come kick down the door. Last thing any of us need is that adding fuel to the fires.” 

Slade blinked at the door as it shut behind Todd. “...he’s not the one I expected relationship advice from, out of all your family.” 

Dick snorted. “Jay’s full of surprises. And sometimes good suggestions.” 

Alfred cleared his throat. “I won’t say that I always support your brother, but in this case, he has a point. Should I have spare time after wrangling Master Bruce, I will assist you as well, but having all the big issues of contention coordinated would be a boon.” He smiled. “Now, I had better go see if Master Bruce wishes to leave in a snit again.” 

“You’re the best, Alfred, thanks.” 

Slade just nodded a farewell. When the door shut this time, he glanced at his partner and dryly asked, “Shared quarters or coffee and a convenient rooftop?” 

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Dick batted his eyelashes for dramatic effect and said, “Coffee first, I don’t put out on the first date!” 

“Pretty sure this is more like our twentieth,” Deathstroke scoffed lightly. 

They went for coffee anyway, but the rooftop was bugged so they made out right next to it. Pissing Batman off would be much easier for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene titles!  
> Match, called  
> Drift away  
> Fly away home/home to roost  
> All for one/into the breach  
> Head-on
> 
> Not sure if I'll turn this into a series, but if I do, the next part will probably kick off with Rose calling Slade.


End file.
